And The Nightmare Begins As The Devil Rides Out
by Somebody Once
Summary: A ten year old Sam faces the Winchester's most deadly nemesis, and John and Dean must face their worst fear when they risk losing the thing they cherish the most.
1. Chapter 1

I wrote a new fic, it's weechesters not so wee, but wee enough to still be weechesters. Sam's 10, Dean's 14, Sam has some serious trouble with a new schoolmate and it turns into the meeting from hell for the Winchesters in small town Oregon.

I am proud to call myself a Limp Sammy fan, so for all you limp Sam girls especially Faye and Gemini...enjoy...and prepare for a bit of an angsty ride.

**And The Nightmare Begins As The Devil Rides Out**

_Contrary to popular belief Sam Winchester and the Demon that killed his mother and Jess have met many times before. Sam tries not to think about that, and Dean doesn't know about them all, but the demon does, the demon knows about every one and it never ever forgets._

"Be back here by 3.30 runt or I swear to god I'll come right on into your class and ask for my little baby brother, see what kind of first impression you make then huh?"

Sam scowled furiously up at his older brother under his mop of unruly curls and wondered for the ten millionth time what he might have done in a past life to deserve Dean as his big brother. "I got it already Dean." He flounced, pulling his hand from his older brothers.

This walking to school together routine was really getting old now and Sam bristled at the constant babying his Dad and Dean insisted on lording over him. God it was like he was a little baby or something, he was totally old enough to walk to school on his own now, he turned ten a few months back and his Dad and Dean still treated him like the baby they'd raised.

"Just as long as you got it then Sammy." Dean smirked leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest in that amused, superior older brother way that infuriated Sam to no end.

"Shouldn't you be getting to your own class now?" Sam whined shifting from foot to foot and adjusting his bag on his shoulder as he peered up at the fourteen year old.

"You know the drill Sam, to the door."

Sam sniffed self-righteously and turned on his heel, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks as Dean watched him go.

It was a ritual they'd had since Sam started school, Dean walked him and made sure he got there ok, didn't matter where, or when, or apparently how old he was either, it was a John Winchester order and one that was never disobeyed. But it was getting silly. Sam turned on his heel and looked back as he neared the doorway to his new school. It was silly and embarrassing that he still needed his big brother to take him, but he couldn't help the slight feeling of reassurance as he peered back and Dean offered him a brief thumbs up before Sam walked through the heavy door and it swung shut behind him.

It was dark and rainy when they arrived in Oregon the day before and Sam had been especially stroppy and exhausted after a four hour drive from their previous base in Seattle. He hadn't wanted to go. They'd been there for four months and Sam had really felt at home at Highland Park, he had some good friends and had even had a crush on Stacey in his class. But as was the way with things in his family, as soon as Sam began to feel comfortable in a place his Dad had found some other job someplace else. This time in Willamette, Oregon and the Winchester family had been in the car and on the road the next day. His dad suspected a werewolf for the five missing campers from the Oregon woods.

Sam didn't give a crap. All he knew was once more his life was uprooted, his friends gone, he wasn't even allowed to say goodbye before they left.

_"These are people's lives Sammy, that's more important than saying goodbye to a bunch of kids you're not going to see again kiddo."_

God how Sam had hated his father in that moment.

He just didn't understand. Could never understand the feeling, the horrible feeling of being the new kid yet again, of having to struggle to find a place in a new school, of sometimes being picked on, of being stared at and called a freak. Of finally finding a group of people to call friends only to be wrenched from them again, back where you started. Back at the beginning again.

Sam's dad didn't understand, and neither did Dean, for all he pretended he knew how Sam felt, he never let himself get close to anyone the way Sam did, he had acquaintances, and girls, but no one he'd ever want to remember or keep in touch with. No that was Sam's burden to bear and once again he found himself missing Tom and Riley and Stacey. It wasn't fair.

"Sammy Winchester?"

He peered up through his bangs as he came to a stop before a closed classroom door. "Yes."

A woman peered down at him dressed in a floral shirt and khaki pants, she stretched her hand out and bent down slightly. "Hi Sammy, I'm Mrs Jacobs, I'm your teacher you want to come in?"

Sam took her hand cautiously and blushed a little shyly. Women always had that effect on him. He never could get the way Dean so easily smirked and kissed and interacted with them. Sam wondered if maybe it was cause he never had a mother that he didn't know how to act around them, being raised by two guys like his Dad and Dean didn't leave much room for feminine touches and Sam's contact with women was pretty minimal.

Mrs Jacobs led Sam into the room which was filled with lots of other kids his age. They were loud and giggly and Sam felt very much the odd one out. Once again he was the outsider, he sat down in a desk towards the back and got out his notebook and pen, his dad's teeth marks still in the end of his only biro.

"Alright class listen up, we have a new pupil joining us today, so I'd like you to all say hi to Sammy for me. Raise your hand for us Sammy."

Sam winced and tried to disappear into his chair, his legs bumping against the underside of his desk. This was the part he hated. He slowly raised a hand as all eyes turned to him and squinted obviously.

"Hi Sammy." The class parroted and suddenly Sam was sick of the nickname. It was a baby name, he wasn't a baby anymore he was ten for goodness sake.

"It's just Sam." He muttered and Mrs Jacobs merely offered a condescending little smile and turned back to the register.

Sam shuffled low in his seat as the class peered and pointed at him and prayed for recess.

When the bell rang for break Sam shot up as if there was a hellhound on his tale and hightailed it out of the classroom. He wished not for the first time that Dean was still in Middle school with him, he hated that they had separate schools now. Dean was big enough for High School and Sam was stuck in stupid Middle School. It sucked.

Sam frowned furiously as he kicked a pebble hard across the playground. What was the bet Dean was hanging around the cheerleaders already, bragging about whatever fake life he'd chosen for himself this time round. Suddenly Sam hated his brother. Everything came so easily to Dean, always had. He oozed a confidence that Sam never could emulate and he always got away with things. But then he thought of their last hunt and a wave of revulsion overcame him swiftly. Dean had pushed him down, saved his ass yet again. Dean was his big brother and Sam loved him more than just about anything in the world, except for cheetos, boy did Sam love cheetos. Feeling bad for thinking mean thoughts about his brother he quickly sent up a prayer that Dean was having more fun than he was and continued out into the playground.

All around him children were playing, some on the climbing frames, some on a giant hopscotch board, some were kicking a ball around and others were playing tag. Sam stood silently peering at them all with a yearning deep inside of him. God he wanted to belong. When he was younger he'd found it much easier, he'd been loud, precocious, he'd waltzed up to other kids without a care in the world, _"I'm Sammy Winchester, would you like to be my friend."_ But that was starting to change, the last few years Sam had started to lose that, his heart was tired of getting bruised, every time he made friends they'd just have to go away again. What was the point, why even bother?

He tried doing what Dean did sometimes, but it just never worked for Sam, he couldn't just be acquaintances with someone, he always cared just that little bit too much.

Standing now on his own by the bleachers, he made his way up onto the stands and sat down, reaching into his hand me down duffle bag and pulling out a copy of _Lord Of The Rings_.

Frodo had just left the shire when he heard a loud voice behind him.

"Hey Winchester?"

Sam's head shot up and he turned abruptly to see a group of three boys standing on the bleachers. Immediately he tensed and watched them as his Dad had taught him to eye a threat. "Yeah?"

"Where'd you get your clothes, Goodwill?" The blonde boy at the front sneered cruelly as he took a step towards Sam up the bleachers.

Sam swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Yes, actually."

The boys laughed like Sam had made the funniest joke in the world. "We saw you holding that boys hand earlier Sammy." The blonde sneered his name, "what a baby."

Sam calmly lowered his book. "I'm not a baby." He told them sternly, "I'm ten."

"Ten year olds don't have to get walked to school."

Sam sighed deeply annoyed, they were right, but it still hurt. "What do you want?"

"Oooh what's the matter Sammy are you going to cry?"

"It's Sam."

"It's whatever we want it to be Sammy."

Sam snorted, "no actually it's still Sam."

The blonde boy's smile faded and he stepped further forward his buddies moving with him. "Looks like the new boy thinks he's smarter than us."

"Look" Sam muttered "Just leave me alone, I'm just reading my book, I don't want to get in any trouble."

The boys laughed and the shorter one behind the blonde mimicked Sam's voice. "I don't wanna get in trouble."

"Why don't you just run home to your mommy Sammy." The blonde smirked cruelly.

Sam was up off the bleachers in a flash and shoving the boy hard bringing him to the ground swiftly. "Shut up."

The boys jumped back startled and the blonde kid stared up at him from the ground in obvious shock. After a moment he pulled himself up and glared furiously, "you've done it now Sammy. You're going to pay for that."

He pulled on the other boys arms and they walked away, stealing vicious glances back at him as they went.

Sam sighed and slumped to the bench once more. Great. Why the hell couldn't things ever just be easy for him, why did he have to get into trouble already on day one. Why did those guys even have to pick on him in the first place. So what if his clothes were a little ratty, they couldn't afford designer stuff, and so what if his brother walked him to school each day, it didn't make it right for them to pick on him.

Sam's lower lip wobbled dangerously as he raised his book once more and willed himself to keep it together, it wouldn't make him less of a target if anyone saw him crying that was for sure.

"Ring a ring a roses, a pocket full of poses…"

The voice comes so close and so suddenly next to Sam's ear that he drops his book and it falls through the bleachers onto the cold grass as he swings around on his butt.

A boy sits next to him, dressed in some high brown shorts and a white shirt. His hair hangs into his eyes and he stares into the distance, eyes squinting a gap between his teeth.

Sam already on edge from before bristles once more, god can't they just leave him alone for a minute. "What do you want?"

The boy's head whirls furiously and his mouth drops open in shock. "I…what…" he stammers, "you're talking to me?"

"Well you just practically sang right in my ear, figured you might of wanted something." Sam mutters.

The boy's mouth just opens and closes like a fish.

Sam turns back to his book.

Finally he feels a tug on his arm. "Hi I'm Timmy" the boy offers smiling and tilting his head to one side.

Sam watches him cautiously waiting for a taunt or barb. When none comes he nods tentatively. "Sam."

"You're new."

"Yeah," Sam offers back surprised this kid's talking to him. "Just arrived here yesterday."

Timmy nods back, "I've lived here all my life."

"How old are you?"

"Eleven. How old are you?"

"Ten."

Timmy's eyes light up as he sees what Sam's reading and he inches closer. "Oh man…Lord of The Rings? Can you read that out loud to me."

Sam wrinkles his nose up a little, but it's good to talk to someone who's not picking on him and he really wants a new friend. "Ok."

Sam and Timmy sit together for most of recess, Sam reading the book aloud and Timmy sitting in silence peering intently at the words as Sam traces them with his thumb like Dean taught him to. When the bell rings Sam gets to his feet abruptly.

"Hey I'm sorry I was kind of mean earlier Timmy I thought you might have been one of those guys that picked on me before."

Timmy's eyes suddenly narrow and he turns to stare out across the playground. "Those boys aren't my friends, those boys are cruel Sam, and they need to be taught a lesson."

Sam nods, agreeing.

"They can't play with fire and not get burned." Timmy finally whispers, eyes turning back to Sam.

Sam spins in his seat, ok that was a weird comment. "Do they pick on you too?"

"They shouldn't be allowed to get away with it."

"We could tell Mrs Jacobs" Sam offers, "if they keep doing it. She'd probably talk to them."

Timmy leans back then his eyes darkening further. "She never does anything about it. They never do."

The wind picks up then and Sam's about to ask what he means but a whistle blows and Mrs Jacobs shouts over at him "Sammy Winchester, come on. Back to class."

Sam shuffles to his feet and looks back to say goodbye, but Timmy's gone, the bleachers are empty again and the pages of his book blow shut in his wake.

At 3.15 Sam looks at the clock with a wistful sigh, just 15 minutes to go and he's itching to get out of there. Funny he'd always loved school really, the learning part anyway, learning new things and facts that could allow him to help Dad and Dean on a hunt, or just help him to read and write. It fascinated him. But first days were always difficult and he wondered again how Dean was handling his own.

He felt eyes boring into the back of his neck and turned to catch a death glare from Andrew Scott aka blonde bully. Sam hadn't realised the butthead was in his class but as soon as recess was over he'd been furiously eyeballed and he'd quickly noticed by who.

Sam glared back, a warning of his own. He wasn't afraid of that kid, he'd faced werewolves, and ghosts and poltergeists and demons; he knew how to defend himself. But he didn't want to have to. Didn't want a reputation as a thug on his first day. That wasn't who he was.

Mrs Jacobs began warbling on about the Aztecs and Sam surreptitiously peered closer at his notebook open in front of him, partially covered by a History textbook. "5 victims" "forest" "disappeared" "every full moon" it sure sounded like a werewolf to Sam. He chewed on his pen thoughtfully and brought the tip down to his notings, "werewolf" he added with a question mark, "black dog", he penned in beneath it. And for a final measure he added "windego". He decided to ask his father about the third creature later, sometimes his Dad missed things that Sam picked up on and he loved the proud look in his father's eye when he actually helped him with research. But none of the victims had been found this time, so they had no body conditions to go on to help them track this thing. Dad was trying to work on the connections between the victims today while he and Dean were at school. Sam cautiously turned the notepad over fingering the 'Sam Winchester's Journal' written on the front in black lettering. He hadn't shown his father or Dean his journal. He figured he'd probably get scolded and laughed at respectively and he didn't need or want either. It was just for him, to help them out and maybe someday he could solve a hunt on his own or something.

A hand grasped his wrist as he trailed the final r of his name and he gasped loudly eliciting a glance his way from Mrs Jacobs. "Problem Sammy?"

Sam paused wondering briefly why she wasn't questioning both boys.

"Uh…no Mrs Jacobs." He stammered turning to look at Timmy when she turned back to the board. "What are you doing here?" He whispered as the rest of the class began to get their books out and chatter animatedly about Aztec clothing. "You're not in my class are you Timmy?"

Timmy smiled and perched on the edge of Sam's desk nonchalantly. "I'm in whatever class I want to be Sam."

"Hey Winchester? You like talking to nothing?"

Sam turned back and narrowed his eyes at Andrew who was smirking cruelly in Timmy's direction.

"You know what Andrew why don't you just shut up, you're a jerk. He's a person, no one deserves to be called nothing around here except you."

Andrew's mouth dropped open. "Who's a person Winchester?"

"Sam just leave it." Timmy said almost playfully. "He'll learn his lesson."

Sam turned back in his seat and huffed out a breath ignoring Andrew until he felt something hit the back of his shoulder, he watched the paper ball roll across the ground and was about to turn and say something when he paused mid-spin and his heart dropped in his chest.

Another paper ball had just travelled through the air and sailed in Timmy's direction, but it hadn't stopped at all, it went straight through him. Like he wasn't even there.

Sam's mouth hung open and he could do nothing but stare as the paper carried on through the air not even registering the person that should have stopped it dead.

"Timmy…" the name was no more than a whisper as the hairs stood on end on the back of Sam's arms and he gaped at his friend.

Timmy had seen what Sam had seen and he didn't seem fazed at all. He looked up from the edge of Sam's desk and smiled raising a finger to his lips, "shhhh."

Sam watched in morbid fascination as his friend got to his feet and walked to the front of the classroom stepping up to Mrs Jacob's desk and hurling his arm across it. In a flash the rulers and pen pots crashed to the ground and Mrs Jacobs jumped startled.

She placed a hand over her heart and managed a jumpy "oh" before hurrying to pick them up from the floor.

Timmy turned around then and walked up to her standing watching her pick up the pens from the floor. Nobody acknowledged him, and for the first time Sam looked around and realised that nobody was watching or noticing or seeing him. It was just Sam.

Oh crap.

Just his luck.

His only friend and it had to be a ghost. Dean would never let him live this one down. Unless he didn't tell Dean. Sam sighed and ran a weary hand over his face as Timmy continued to watch Mrs Jacobs.

When she stood up slowly, he walked forward and turned to Sam again. "They never did anything Sam. They never do."

Sam shook his head not understanding.

"They deserve to be punished."

With that Timmy stepped forward and placed a hand upon the teacher's head grinning playfully Sam's way, it was only when he reared back that Sam started to get frightened.

Mrs Jacobs made a sharp gasping noise and staggered backwards suddenly, the class were still entertaining themselves noisily and Sam stiffened automatically in his seat.

What the…

Suddenly her head flung back and she began flailing, grasping at her throat.

"Oh.god." She managed and this time a few heads turned in her direction.

Sam watched the drama unfold with an icy feeling in the bottom of his stomach. His teacher began clawing at her throat as blood slowly started to drip from her eyes and ears and mouth. Sam quickly got to his feet and rushed towards the desk.

"Timmy, Timmy stop it please."

Timmy turned his back to him and simply walked to the board calmly.

Mrs Jacobs was writhing now her face almost unrecognisable beneath the blood, her eyes staring unseeing at some frozen horror.

"Ring a ring a roses, a pocket full of poses…" Timmy sang in quiet melodic tune.

"Timmy." Sam tried, truly frightened now and a few feet away from Mrs Jacobs. What should he do? He wanted Dean, he wanted his Dad.

"She needs to be punished Sam…a tissue, a tissue, we all fall down."

Sam shook his head. "Why, why Timmy? She hasn't done anything."

"Exactly Sam, exactly. She never did a thing."

Some of the class were shouting now and Sam realised with a start that the rest of his class were starting to panic at the state of their teacher who was writhing on the desk. Even Andrew had his mouth hanging open in shock. Sam turned to the girl next to him as Timmy continued to hum, his back to Sam as he picked up a piece of chalk and began scribbling.

"Sally, go get somebody quick, tell them to call an ambulance." Sam shouted, immediately switching into his survival skills his father had drilled into him and Dean from a young age.

He moved to crouch next to Mrs Jacobs but flinched as he felt a buzz of electricity warn him back.

"Leave her Sam." Timmy whispered back, still facing the board, chalk in hand, dreadful humming nursery rhyme repeating.

"Timmy, why are you doing this?" Sam tried again, "I can help, just stop doing that to her…please."

"A tissue, a tissue we all fall down."

Sam felt a whoosh of heat and he fell backwards onto his butt as flames suddenly erupted from the woman's chest before him, a wordless scream echoed in her throat as the fire engulfed her and the class screamed in horror, crying and shaking as she burned before them.

Timmy stilled, stepping back from the board as he surveyed the nursery rhyme now covering the board "humpty dumpty sat on the wall, humpty dumpty had a great fall", Sam barely noted in abstract terror the same two lines repeated over the entire board, his eyes desperately trying to ignore the burning body before him.

There was a horrible feeling of calm then in the room as Timmy turned around and faced Sam smiling like he'd just won a spelling bee, not burned his teacher from the inside out. His eyes though, his eyes when they stared back at his new friend, they were completely black.

"Do you think your mother felt like that Sam?" Timmy asked, voice distorted and manic smile still in place. "Do you think she felt like that when she burned for you?"

At Sam's slack jaw Timmy flew across the room in the blink of an eye and was under Sam's skin in a second.

That's when Sam started screaming.

Dean shoved the door to the High School open with a careless ease as he breathed a sigh of relief and waltzed into the playground. Thank god that was over. Man he hated school. Really, honest to god didn't get the point. How could learning algebra or how to boil an egg help you defeat a Wendigo, or vanquish a demon? Answer, it couldn't. Therefore it was pointless. Why his Dad continued to force him to go was beyond Dean, but when he turned 16 he was so outta here. Hunting with his Dad, it sounded like a dream. Side by side, maybe with Sammy too when he was old enough, watching each others backs, a family, the way he'd always wanted it to be.

He grinned at the thought of his geek brother and he felt a fond tightening in his chest. He wondered how the little dork's first day went. For all he whined and moaned he knew Sam desperately wanted to fit in, in a way Dean would never be able to understand. All Dean needed in his life was his Dad, his brother and a stupid Demon he could blow away when he needed to let off steam, he sighed as he caught sight of head cheerleader Dusty Anderson, alright and maybe a few women too along the way. Sammy however was an entirely different kettle of fish. How they were even related seemed a mystery to them both.

Sam needed people, he was never satisfied with just Dean and his Dad, he needed friends, and a network, and it forever surprised Dean just how desperately he went after that. Why couldn't Sam just be happy with what he had? Dean was. John was. How had they, together, raised a kid that wanted so many different things to them? Dean sighed but then pictured Sam's floppy mess of hair that was forever in his eyes and that little line in his forhead he got when he was going to ask a question he considered important, or the way he ran with reckless abandon and hugged Dean if he and Dad went on a hunt without him and then tried to wriggle back and act too old for all that even though at ten he was perfectly within his rights.

God he loved that little boy, needed him more than breathing. Sam was a one off, he was a dreaming, adorable, precocious, moody little one off but Dean wouldn't swap him for anything.

Speaking of…Dean frowned in confusion as he noticed a crowd of people running to and away from the Middle school. Naturally suspicious Dean increased his pace to an almost run and drew to a stop as he heard the approaching sirens.

Nerves tightening he watched a fire engine scream passed and his jog turned into an all out sprint.

By the time he reached the school, his lungs were burning, and he froze in horror at the sight before him. The school didn't appear to be ablaze but from beneath the window Dean knew led to Sam's classroom, fiery tendrils licked from the frame and smoke billowed beneath the school door.

Oh god.

"SAMMY!"

Dean dropped his backpack in sick terror and ran straight for the flames, determined to pull his brother from the fire for the second time this lifetime.

Next time on ATNBATDRO...

_A fire._

Sam.

It had finally happened, his worst nightmare, the thing had returned. And this time it was taking Sam.

_He moved like a drowning man, even though thinking back on it it was probably the fastest he'd ever moved in his whole life, he felt like everything was too slow, like his limbs were wading through water, like every second his brother was dying._


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much you guys for your simply amazing feedback on this fic. I am so greatful for your compliments and your constructive criticism. I am beyond excited about the kind words and each one of you rocks. I love you guys.

For some reason my stupid html isn't working when I upload the story so the page breaks and divides won't work, I have attempted to leave spaces for this but...le sigh...not sure if it'll work.

Right where were we...oh yes...burning Sam...muhahaha I'm a little evil when it comes to torturing our boy.

Enjoy, and don't kill me ducks flying fangirl arsenal...

000000

John Winchester scowled as he flung down the police report before him and hurled his leftover coffee cup into the empty trashcan. Why the hell was there no connection between the victims? It had to be a werewolf, just had to be, otherwise he was completely stumped.

As were the Oregon PD it seemed.

Sighing he fidgeted slightly in his seat surveying his surroundings. Being in a Police Station never left him feeling very comfortable, not least because he was here impersonating an officer, but because it brought back memories. Memories of ten years before and the looks of suspicion, the holding room, the accusations that a husband would ever murder his wife.

No John Winchester was not a fan of the law. He'd seen far too many times what innocent people had been accused of and what creatures had been to blame for.

Standing now he turned to head back to the desk and hand back the reports, still at something of a lose end. "Thanks Tina." He turned on the charm.

"You're welcome Officer Simpson. I hope you found what you were looking for."

"Oh yes, they were very helpful."

John's smile dropped as suddenly swarms of police officers began to converge on the corridor he was stood in. Oh shit. They'd figured out he was a fraud. John's hands itched towards his piece, hovering slightly, awaiting their next move. No way was any small town law hick taking him away from his boys and locking him up.

To his surprise the cops barely spared him a glance instead turning towards Tina at the desk and barking orders her way.

"Tina, alert the other services, we got a serious incident down at the Middle School, some sort of fire they're saying."

John's heart stopped and for a long moment his blood turned to ice in his veins.

A fire.

_Sam._

It had finally happened, his worst nightmare, the thing had returned. And this time it was taking Sam.

Shakily and with no more than a growl, he gripped the cop closest to him by the arm.

"I'll ride with you."

000

Once when Sam was three he'd fallen into the pool outside their motel room in Cincinnati. While he barely had any recollection of the events before or after it, he remembered the feeling…the feeling of being completely submerged, smothered, of struggling for air, of clawing for the surface he knew he'd never reach.

Oh he remembered that. And he suddenly wished he didn't.

He felt cold, and dark and totally and completely smothered. The sound of his own heartbeat thudded in his ears, loudly, rapidly, out of synch.

He wanted Dean. He wanted his Daddy. Anything but the never-ending darkness and the sound of Timmy's laughter in his ears.

"What do you want?" He sobbed as his own voice echoed in his mind. "What are you doing to me?"

"He's not doing anything." Timmy's childlike voice giggled somewhere to Sam's left, "I however have been waiting for you for quite some time Samuel."

Sam suddenly became aware of his surroundings as light and sound slammed back into focus in a cacophony of color. Children were screaming and crying and running out of the doors as Mrs Jacobs charred form smoked on the ashen classroom desk. And Sam…Sam was pinned to the blackboard, making his way towards the ceiling.

Terror consumed him and his throat closed up doubling the shaking as he struggled and willed his frozen limbs to move, to do something.

_Oh no. Oh god no. Not the ceiling. Not the ceiling. _

_Dad!_

_Dean!_

_Help me!_

"They can't hear you Sammy." Timmy's voice intoned, playfully lengthening out Sam's name in amusement. "Nobody can hear you scream."

"Let me go." Sam thought desperately, his mouth refusing to move, his eyes frozen open in terror.

"Lets not make this harder than it has to be little one."

"I want to go home. Please let me go." Sam gasped as his body was slowly dragged further and further up the blackboard.

"On one condition." Timmy's voice sang. And Sam had the distinct feeling that it wasn't the ghost boy he was talking to anymore. "You come with me."

"Come where?" Sam whispered, frightened beyond belief.

"There's so much we can do together you and I, so much Sammy. If you'll only let me in."

Sam sniffled then. "No, no, no!" He shouted, "I want my Dad, I want Dean. Go away!"

The thudding of his heartbeat became louder still and Sam squirmed and sobbed as he made it to the center of the ceiling now. "Your Mommy wants you here Sam. She wants you to come with me. She thinks it's the least you can do you know."

Sam shook his head weakly. "N..N…No."

"She hates you you know Sammy. You took her away from John and Dean. She died for you, and boy does she regret it now."

Sam bit his lip and felt the tears run down his cheeks, "I'm sorry." He managed weakly as his arms moved of their own accord so he was splayed on the ceiling. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry Mom."

"There's a way you can make it up to her Sam. Let me in. Just join me little one."

Sam froze then. Could he really make it up to his Mom? Could he really earn the forgiveness he'd felt he'd owed since he was six months old now.

"What do I do?" He questioned, though his mouth didn't make a sound.

"Just let me find you Sammy. Let me in. Let me find you child."

Suddenly Sam's heart doubled in speed and everything turned hazy, "Ok." He whispered softly. "Okay."

And then everything stopped.

000

Smoke filled the corridors and Dean used his fingers to graze the wall before him as he moved.

_Shit. Sam where are you?_

His throat felt thick and it was difficult to breathe but he pushed on, knew the risks if he stopped.

What the hell had happened? What was going on? And where was his brother?

Dean knew, he felt it deep in his bones, Sam was in serious trouble.

"Sammy!" He shouted hoarsely as the heat in the corridor sparked yet another coughing fit from the middle Winchester. His heart echoed in his ears and he screamed himself hoarse. Oh god. He had to find Sammy. Need to get Sam.

It was all that mattered to him.

His little brother, the baby he'd protected all his life needed him now, more than ever, and Dean wasn't about to let him down.

With streaming eyes he stumbled backwards as his hand made contact with the door handle to what must have been Sammy's classroom. It was hot and Dean's hand hissed as the metal burned his palm.

_Shit. Fuck. That hurt._

He could hear the cried of fire-fighters somewhere along the corridor. Shouts and muffled words beneath masks. They'd failed to notice the fourteen year old enter the school though, caught up in all the frenzy. Keeping low Dean pulled his sleeve down over his open palm and yanked the door open with all his might.

Recalling all he'd heard and read about fires he knew it wasn't the wisest of moves but right about now he didn't give a fuck, this was his little brother in there, with all that smoke and all that fire and _ohgodSammyplease._

He entered the classroom at a crawl and blearily tried to see through the smoke. Tearfilled eyes made it almost impossible to see but after a moment his vision cleared a little. "Sam!"

No answering cry met his ears and he crawled further into the classroom on all fours bumping into desks and chairs as he moved. "Sammy!"

Staggering to his feet, he jumped back in horror as he found the origin of all the fire and smoke, a burning body and desk flamed before him and he had to turn and hurl as he glimpsed a woman's long hair still alight over the desk edge. "What the fuck."

And then he felt something fall. For a second he thought it was the firefighters, they'd arrived and turned on the hose. Then another splatter hit his scalp. Raising a hand through the smoke and wiping his forehead Dean frowned as his fingers met a sticky substance. Bringing them slowly down his eyes adjusted slightly through the grey haze around him and his chest felt like a vice as he recognised it as blood.

Blood.

_Ohgodnoohgodnoohgodnoohgodno._

_Please._

For a moment it felt like the world just stopped. Like nothing at all existed or moved or lived on around him. Not the smoky room, not the firefighters struggling to get in, not the screaming spectators outside, nor the blood stained reality of his slightly pink fingertips.

Nothing.

And then he looked up.

000

John sprinted from the squad car, throat dry, everything around him a blur.

He stopped momentarily desperately scanning the faces of the children outside and the distraught group of assembling parents.

_Sam?_

_Dean?_

Nothing.

He raced towards the entrance to the school.

_Our father who art in Heaven…_

_Protect my boys, protect my boys, protect my boys…_

He knew without a doubt if Dean knew Sam was in trouble he'd have been here. And neither were there. This was not good. Not good at all.

"Excuse me sir." Large arms encircled him, stopping his sprint mid flow. "We can't let you through here I'm afraid."

John shoved them away easily. "I'm a cop."

"Yeah and I'm a fire fighter." The mammoth of a man replied. "And I can't let anyone but my guys in there."

"There are kids in there." John shouted, losing it. Every second they were out there was another wasted second between him and his boys.

"I'm aware of that sir. So why don't you let us do our job."

John started forward again. "Like hell…"

This time two other men came to stand with the first and John felt himself forcibly restrained once again.

"Let me go." He growled. "I mean it."

They only tightened their grip further. John struggled furiously. "Let me go. Let me go. Let me go."

"A little help here." One of the men shouted and seconds later one of the policemen had John cuffed to the fire engine. "I'm sorry, but this is for your own good man. Can't have anyone else getting hurt here."

John wrenched his arm furiously. "You don't understand…"

"You're a cop right?"

"Yeah…"

"I do understand, we all want to get in there man, but we gotta let the boys do their job first."

John pretended to acquiesce and nodded his head forlornly as the guy turned and walked away to talk to the other cops. As soon as they were safe enough away. John withdrew his paperclip.

Fucking amateurs.

000

_Sammy'sontheceilingSammy'sontheceilingSammy'sontheceilingSammy'sontheceiling._

Dean felt for sure he must have been experiencing some kind of horrific nightmare because there was no way in the worst kind of hell of a reality he could have imagined his little brother would be pinned and bleeding above him on the ceiling.

Nuh uh no way.

Except he was.

And he was staring at Dean.

He was just staring.

A loud keening noise like a wailing cat filled his ears at the same time as a third drop of Sam's blood hit his cheek and it took Dean a stupid amount of time to realise the sound was coming from him.

_No,No,No,No,No._

He moved like a drowning man, even though thinking back on it it was probably the fastest he'd ever moved in his whole life, he felt like everything was too slow, like his limbs were wading through water, like every second his brother was dying.

_Get him down._

His mind only registered the one thought.

Get him down _now._

Scrambling onto a chair Dean thanked god for the extra height he'd gained the last year and climbed onto a desk. He reached his hands out and managed to reach Sam's t-shirt, which hung awkwardly down with the force of gravity. AC/DC concert shirt. It had been one of Dean's.

It was covered in Sam's blood.

Dean figured he'd be sick if he ever saw that shirt again.

Tightening his grasp around the cotton and using his other hand to grip his little brother's shoulder Dean tried desperately to believe he wasn't trying to wrench his baby brother from his classroom ceiling.

Sam watched him. Silently.

"Sam…" Dean managed through his closed up throat. "It's ok Sammy. I've got you. I'll get you down. It's ok now. I promise. I promise you Sammy."

Sam blinked silently, his mouth pursed in a perfect little o.

Dean's hands were shaking, god they were shaking so hard and he couldn't see through all the tears and Sam was just staring at him and he couldn't stop fucking shaking and gasping and crying and tears and blood and sweat mingled on his face and he couldn't breathe.

And he couldn't get Sam down. Why wouldn't he come down. It's like he was stuck there, pinned, and ohgod Dean remembered enough to know this was how mom went. And he'd be damned if he let Sammy go the same way.

"No Sam…no…come on little brother…"

Dean's hands tugged desperately, furiously, eyes never leaving Sams'.

"I won't let you go Sam, I'll never let you go. You're my little brother Sammy," He sobbed. "You're mine. Mine."

"Actually…" Sam growled in a voice entirely too low to be his own. "He's mine now."

And then he fell.

Dean almost dropped him he'd been so shocked at Sam's words, but his arms automatically encircled his brother as they both lost their balance and fell to the floor.

The elder Winchester gently lifted his little brother onto his back and looked down at Sam's now closed eyelids. "Sam!" He screamed "Sammy!"

The ten year old didn't stir.

Dean ran a hand through his brothers bangs and ripped off his jacket using it to staunch the blood that seeped through the AC/DC shirt. "You're ok." He whispered over and over, "you're ok now."

He pulled his brother into his lap cradling him like he hadn't done since Sam was six and he'd shared a bed with his older brother. "What happened Sammy? Jesus what happened?"

His brother failed to respond and Dean knew he had to get them out of there. Sam's skin was pale as parchment and his lips were turning a horrible shade of blue. He needed help.

Hauling Sam into his arms he coughed as his lungs screamed for air. "We're getting out of here now Sammy."

Staggering beneath the extra weight of the youngest Winchester Dean made his way towards the exit of the classroom. He had got no more than two feet out of the room when he bumped into a body.

Shielding Sam protectively Dean kicked out with his foot and looked up into the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. The gas mask of a fireman.

000

John bit his tongue in concentration as he managed the final turn of the lock and the handcuffs slipped off. Thank god.

He spun to run back to the school when he heard a cry from some emerging firemen.

"Medics now!"

John watched as a smaller figure pulled aggressively away from the leading fireman and his heart leapt in his chest.

Dean! He'd know that protective stance anywhere.

_Oh thank god._

John sprinted forward, forgetting all aliases and plans and identities, these were his boys.

As he ran a second fireman emerged cuddling a small bundle to his chest and John's knees almost gave out right there as he lowered the bundle to the ground and his youngest son's mess of curls became instantly recognisable.

_Sammy._

"Sam…Sam!" He shouted, giving up all pretences of calm as he hurled himself forward.

Medics hurriedly swarmed his youngest son and Dean struggled to get close to his brother.

"Severe bleeding, smoke inhilation, lack of responsiveness."

_Oh god._

"No pulse ox. He's tachychardic."

_Sammy._

"We got no pulse. Start the paddles now."

John reached their side and fell to his knees as he reached out for Dean, already on the floor.

"Dean…"

Dean's face was devoid of all color and he was visibly shaking, he looked at his father with dazed eyes. "Daddy…"

And that's when John knew just how bad this all was. Dean hadn't called him Daddy since he was four. Daddy…and John felt himself begin to crumble.

"Charging-clear"

John pulled Dean's face to his chest, shielding him from the horrific view of their Sam jolting as the electric current was pumped through his chest.

"What are you doing?" John screamed, suddenly unable to contain his emotions. Aching to reach out for his baby boy. "What are you doing to him? Oh god Sam…Sammy."

"Sir I'm going to have to ask you to give them some room." A female paramedic spoke, gripping John's arm and pulling the numb father up. Ushering John and Dean back.

"No…no…Sam." Dean cried openly, trying to push her away. "No."

"Nothing.,"

"Charging – Clear!"

"Sammy!" John shouted pushing forward once more. "No Sammy, you fight baby. You hear me you fight?"

Dean fisted a hand in his father's shirt.

Sam's little body, still small for his age, remained still and unresponsive, his rosebud mouth slightly parted, his bangs that John had tried to get him to cut for over a year now hanging waywardly in front of his closed eyelids.

John slumped to the ground once more pulling a distraught Dean down with him. Oh god this couldn't be happening. He couldn't be sitting here in some Oregon school carpark watching Mary's baby, Dean's baby, his baby, dying in front of him. Sam's shirt some band shirt that Dean had given him ages ago was soaked through with blood. John shook as his mind recalled the beam that lit up Sam's face when Dean had finally handed it over.

"_You're the bestest Dean. The bestest big brother in the world."_

"_It's just a shirt kiddo"._

But Dean's beam of barely concealed pride had been evident to his father. And Sam's gleeful hurled embrace at his older brother had been pay enough.

The medics paused between shocking and John laid a palm against Sam's forehead, smoothing down his baby's eyelids.

"Daddy's here kiddo. Daddy's here. Come on breathe."

The paramedics moved again and John and Dean watched as they struggled to pump life back into the youngest. It was a horrifying, terror filled four minutes later that they finally pulled back.

The world seemed to cave in on itself as they shook their heads and John couldn't hear anything but he could sure lip read enough to know the words 'i'm sorry' when he saw them.

"No, no!" He screamed pushing them aside and reaching for his son. "You can't give up on him, he's fine, he'll be fine. Do it again. Shock him again."

The medics merely put the equipment away and some stepped forward attempting to comfort the distraught family.

"No, get off me. Help him, you have to help him." Dean screamed hysterically.

John lifted Sam's body into his arms and held him close to his chest, nestling his face into his little boy's hair. "Come back to us Sammy. Come back little one. We need you Sam. We still need you baby."

Sam's chest remained still, no breath echoed from his lungs and his eyes remained closed. John brought up a hand to Sam's hair and brought his lips to his son's tiny forehead. "Don't do this to me Sammy. Don't do this to Dean."

His eldest had Sam's small hand gripped in his own and he was crying like he'd never stop.

"Not yet Mary please, don't take him yet."

The paramedic quietly turned off the siren and a horrified silence mingled among the distraught spectators. A life had been lost in this horror.

John's baby boy was dead.


	3. Children shouldn't play with dead things

Authors Note: I hope the lovely Ridley C. James won't mind me using her Caleb in this part of the story, she's done such an amazing job making him original I kind of feel like I'm stealing him. Anyway elements of him are from her Caleb who I adore. Sorry this chapter has taken since oh I don't know about the dawn of time to write (lol) but it's been a real bugger to get around. Anyway...I thank every one of you for your kind and thoughtful reviews.

Let the limp Sam continue.

* * *

John had never been torn limb from limb before but if he had been he was pretty sure that even that paled in comparison to the absolute pain he was feeling now.

It was like being wrapped in a strange ball of cotton wool, he could hear everything around him but it was muffled, distorted, paling into a vapid insignificance, he was aware people were trying to talk to him and he was aware he was crouched, could feel the cold concrete beneath his jeans but he just couldn't quite grasp reality.

Being in the marines had taught him a lot about regaining control, of pulling together at the most precarious and horrific of times but all his training had fled the moment the paramedics abandoned his son like some stray cat they'd regrettably had to put down. Why weren't they doing anything? Why was everything moving in slow motion? Was this actually happening?

That was it.

This was a nightmare.

John felt his body slowly let out a long breath as he decided upon that solution. Yes, a nightmare, it had to be, because there was just absolutely no way, no way for his mind to even contemplate the horror of the situation his little family were in. This couldn't be real, if this were real their was no way his little soldier Dean'd be crying as loud and as publicly into his shoulder, there was no way his baby would be bleeding out and dying against his chest. No way. None.

He wanted to wake up now. He wanted to wake up and see Sammy jumping onto his chest and bouncing up and down on the bed covers babbling about his new class and pulling him up, he wanted to see Dean smile ruefully at him over some over crispy attempt at bacon.

He had decided completely that it was a nightmare and was contemplating how the hell to wake himself up when someone tried to take Sam from his arms, and suddenly, as if someone had turned on a light switch, or clicked their fingers at once, everything rushed back, suddenly the voices were no longer smothered and cotton wool like, they were loud and shrill and in his ear, and the cries, oh god, Dean, the cries and the screaming and he wasn't stupid enough not to realise most of that noise was coming from him.

_And.they.were.trying.to.take.Sammy.from.him._

John's fist shot out, catching a paramedic off guard as he reared back in shock at the unexpected attack.

'Don't touch him.'

'Sir…'

'I said don't _touch_ him.'

The medic backed away slowly and exchanged sickeningly sympathetic looks with his colleagues as John's fingers found Sam's hair and fisted there, clinging more tightly than ever.

_No. No. No._

_Why wasn't he waking up now?_

_Oh sweet jesus why wasn't he waking up?_

Immediately the knowledge that his baby boy hadn't breathed for over ten minutes hit him like a mack truck to the chest. Gingerly he uncurled Sam from his chest and lay him back down on the tarmac before him.

_Oh…Oh Sammy._

The ten year old's pallor was a dull almost grey and his lips were a deep blue, bruising starkly from the rest of his lax features. For the barest of moments John brought his fingers up to touch his son's lips, hovered there briefly.

"You my boy, are stronger than this." He managed when he found his voice through all the shaking.

And then he had Dean in his grip. "Dean, chest now."

Dean was staring at him like he'd just found himself offered a lifeboat after months stranded in the ocean. Yes. John needed to see that look in Dean's eyes. Needed Dean to believe he COULD save Sam, he would save their boy. John needed to believe that himself.

He leaned over Sam's tiny face and sealed his mouth over his sons. Breathing life back into the child he created.

* * *

_One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four…_

It was funny, in that moment, on that tarmac, with his hands over his brother's unbeating heart, Dean had never felt more alive in his life.

Instinct kicked in. And from a horror so sickening, so absolutely unspeakable he'd looked up and he'd seen his father's eyes, his father's plans, and he'd had something to believe in again.

Because for all the things Dean Winchester knew, the most important was John Winchester didn't lose, he never failed, he was as constant as time, and if John Winchester said they weren't losing Sam. They weren't fucking losing him. Simple as.

Only the CPR wasn't working and Sam had been down too long now. Far too long.

_You don't get to give up on us kid._ He told his brother as he pumped._ You don't get to go now._

His father's muttered counting echoed through the answering silence and Dean hazarded a look up to see the sympathetic and peering faces watching their little drama unfold.

_Fuck you._ Dean thought. _Fuck you and your sympathy. We don't need it. We don't want it. He's making it through this. He's making it._

He turned his face back to Sam's. And everything faded away once more.

The spectators were gone, the ambulances silent, the light fading, the only thing that existed in that moment was the three of them, the way it'd always been. Dad. Dean. Sammy. Fighting for one another, fighting for themselves. Fighting.

Sam, the protected, Dad the general, Dean the second in command.

Sam had to make it. He _would_ make it, because without something to protect what was the point of the army, without a cause who the hell were they fighting for?

He'd make it. Dad _said_ he'd make it and that was enough for Dean.

_One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four…_

* * *

Except he didn't make it.

Sam that is.

He died.

He didn't breathe again while John and Dean worked on him. They made it twenty minutes before they were physically wrenched away, both unwillingly sedated by the paramedics who wanted to move the poor little boy's bruised and battered body to the hospital. The crowd watched in sympathy and horror thanking god it wasn't one of their own as the ambulances drove away and the demon watched from behind Sam's dead eyes with a smile that could have woken the dead with its malice, and almost did.

* * *

John woke to white light and prayed to god for this to be the moment he woke from the nightmare.

No Sam on his chest. No Dean or bacon. Just white, clinical, nothingness.

He was still in his jeans and shirt. He was alone.

He turned his head to the left and refused to think. Emptied his mind of everything until he saw Dean, lying asleep, drugged on the bed opposite him.

Staggering to his feet he made his way to his eldest's side. Dean's eyebrow's were drawn tightly down and tear tracks and smoke still smudged his wan cheeks. John took a shaking thumb and drew the soot away.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He was supposed to save Sammy. He was supposed to protect his boys. His baby was supposed to make it to see eleven for fucks sake. But Mary was supposed to make it to 26 too, his inner voice screamed against the pounding of his heart.

He couldn't protect Mary, he could protect Sammy. He had to.

He had raised that baby, he and Dean, he had cuddled and changed and kissed and rocked that baby, and he'd be damned if he let him slip away now. He'd be damned if he let some motherfucking fire demon destroy his life a second time. Nobody touched his children, nobody.

John's body thrummed with an anger, a fierce primitive protectiveness so strong he almost went down under it. His boys were all he had. And he would march into hell himself to get them back if he had to. And he feared the time had come to do that for Sam.

Leaning down he swept back Dean's smoky hair, "I'll sort this Dean. Your Dad's got this one son. I promise. We're not losing our boy. Sam's not going anywhere." With a last sweep of his hair he placed his lips to his son's sleeping forehead and kissed him gently. "I'll be back soon."

* * *

"John…oh John…"

"I don't want to hear that from you Jim. I want to hear you say you'll help me."

Jim Murphy's distraught voice echoed over the line "John you can't my friend. You know what the repercussions of this are. You can't play god."

"But the demon can right?"

"John…"

"No Jim. No." His hand grips the bathroom wall so tightly it turns white. "It took my Sammy, it took him right from under us, it ripped his chest apart and almost burned him alive, it is not fucking taking him from us. I won't let it Jim. If you won't help me I'll do it alone."

"John…god…you know how much I love Sam, I'd give up anything for that boy, but I can't be a part of this."

"Then you won't, I just need the name of the ritual…"

"John you don't know what you're asking."

"I know Jim. I know."

A silence echoed through the line and John could almost see the cleric stalking across the rectory pondering his eternal damnation, he also knew without a doubt that Jim would help him. He was the only person in the world, bar Caleb, Mac and Joshua that John could trust with his boys. The only one.

"I know what I'm asking of you Jim, and you know me, I wouldn't ask you unless I had absolutely no choice. Jim, god, I'm sorry…' John ran a hand through his dark hair. "I'm sorry, but it's Sammy, Jim. It's _Sammy_.'

The pause that greeted him lasted entirely too long.

Finally...

"Tarot, and blood John, tarot and blood."

The dial tone screams Jim's guilt and John whispers thankyou to the air before punching the bathroom wall so hard his knuckles bleed.

* * *

Dean wakes to no one. And ain't that a kick in the balls.

An empty bed next to him makes him believe his Dad's with Sammy. Or Sammy's body. And that alone is enough to make Dean laugh somewhat hysterically.

Sam wasn't supposed to die. Dad said he wouldn't die. So how come he hadn't started breathing again? How come he'd lay cold and unresponsive for over twenty minutes till some son of a bitch injected something into Dean's forearm and he heard his Dad cursing like a sailor as he was given the same treatment.

_Fuck…jesus…fuck…_

_My little brother is dead,_ he thinks. And then he thinks, _no_. Because denial's easier, denial he can cope with. Reality not so much right now.

He can't seem to stop his brain from transmitting those final moments with Sam, the ceiling, the fire, that blank look on his baby brother's young face._ Oh god…oh dear god._

He needs to see him.

Suddenly as sure as he needs oxygen he needs to hold Sam, to feel him, to be with him. He wants his brother. Wherever he is Sam will be cold, and scared and alone, god he'll be all alone.

Dean hurls himself up and staggers out of the room.

* * *

Caleb throws the leather jacket down soundlessly and has his arms around John in a second.

"Man…"

"Don't say it Caleb. He's going to be fine, I'm fixing this."

Reaves nods at his friend, pretends not to notice the older man's hands shaking.

"Johnny you sure about this?"

John reaches out a hand and takes the book and the tarot cards from the dark haired man standing before him. "I can't lose him Caleb, I don't have a choice."

Caleb nods, and claps a hand to John's shoulder "then I'm with you man." He pictures a two year old Sammy, an angelic smile, under a mountain of brown curls swinging between his father and brother, "I'm with you all the way."

* * *

It's surprisingly easy for him to see Sam, and Dean's almost upset none of the doctors have stopped him, he's in the mood to hurt someone right now.

Instead he's surprised to be shown into a room, not a morgue, a simple white room with a dead little brother in the middle of it. Dean bites his lip so hard it bleeds. The nurse stands a moment, inquiring about his father, Dean makes up some lie about needing a break. Truth is he can't believe his Dad isn't here either, leaving Sam alone, unprotected, _what the fuck._

"Still...", he thinks as he makes his way haltingly to his brother's side, "it's always been us anyway hasn't it Sam? Just us."

Sam looks pale and wrong and Dean thinks those people who claim dead people look like they're simply sleeping obviously hadn't met his brother before. When Sam slept it was spread eagled, sprawling across beds, hair standing up in tufts, mouth parted, when he was very little with a tiny fist in it, but now not so much.

This Sam, is straight, rigid, like he's been moved that way.

And Dean _hates_ it.

He stands peering down at his little brother's face and feels bile rise up in his throat. Before him is everything he hoped he'd never have to see, every single darkest fear he'd ever held, laid out in a white sheet before him.

He takes Sam's cold hand in his own and breathes on it, rubbing it between his own. "You cold Sammy? It's ok," he whispers, "it's ok, I'm here now kiddo, I'm here."

The part of him, the part that refuses to believe this is Sam, that this is his baby brother lying before him dead, waits for Sam to answer, but it never comes and he sits down into the chair at Sam's side.

He brings his second hand out to push the curls back from Sam's forehead. Such a mess. Such a god damned mess. "What happened huh?" He manages, "What happened between me dropping you off at school and here Sam? God you were fine, you were a little grumpy, but you were ok, that was only this morning Sammy, what happened? What the hell happened?"

The absolute silence of the room breaks him, not even a beeping of a life support machine, there's no life here, not now, and that makes his heart ache so hard he wants to die right here with Sammy.

He brings his forehead to Sams'. Looks down at those closed eyelashes, so close his breath is on Sam's face. "I can't get my head around this you know? I can't. I promised you I'd always protect you, why'd you have to go make a liar out of me? Huh?" His hand stills on Sam's hair and a lone tear drops onto the younger Winchester's cheek from above. Dean heaves in a shuddering breath and sees Sam age 2 days, cradled in his mother's arms, Sam at one stumbling towards him on wobbly legs, sees Sammy at five riding his bicycle to fast and falling into Dean's waiting arms, Sammy 's indignant expression as he wrenched his hand from Dean's this morning, _"I got it Dean",_ turning with one last glance to Dean as his brother gave him a thumbs up as he entered the school. "It wasn't supposed to be this way Sammy. You were supposed to be safe there. You were supposed to be safe."

The tears fall harder as Dean brings his lips to his brother's forehead, kisses his brow, then each eyelid and his little nose, his mom's nose. "I'm sorry Sam. I'm so sorry Sammy. _My_ Sammy. So sorry."

* * *

Dean's there.

John hadn't expected that, thinking his eldest was still out for the count he moves forward and immediately pulls Dean from Sam tight into his embrace. He purposefully avoids looking at his baby for fear he'll lose it right there.

Caleb's sharp exhale of breath as he takes in the little boy who'd become a part of his family, has John's head snapping up from Dean's hair.

"Dad?"

"It's alright son, we're going to fix him, we're going to fix this."

Dean looks up at him and John breaks a little inside to see the lack of trust there right now. "You said that back at the school."

And damn if that doesn't hurt.

"I know Dean, but we have a plan now. I promise buddy. I need you to trust me now son."

Dean's eyes flicker back to Sam, but he's desperate, desperate for something to hold onto and John sees the moment he believes in his old man again. "Ok."

Dean moves back slightly from Sam and Caleb moves forward and pulls Dean into his arms. "Hey Deuce."

"Reaves." Dean manages, struggling to maintain his façade around the man he'd always idolized.

"Kid's really gone and done it this time huh?"

Dean sniffs and pulls back, "yeah I'm going to give him hell for scaring the shit out of us like this."

Caleb nods noticing that Dean is a mere hairs breath away from losing it completely. He claps him on the shoulder and looks up to see his friend standing frozen, staring at his youngest son.

"Johnny?"

John's rigid and shaking and Caleb can't remember ever seeing him like this. He brings his hand to Sam's forehead and lets it hover there a moment. Then he leans down and whispers in a tone that could only be described as desperate. "I have you now Sammy. Dad's got you now baby. You just come back to us. And we'll do the rest."

"What's going on? What are you doing here?"

Caleb turns to Dean uncomfortable to witness such a private moment. "Your Dad's a man with a plan Deuce, we're getting Sammy back."

Dean snorts and glares for a moment, "excuse me for pointing this out to you here demon boy but Sam's dead, aka no pulse, aka no heartbeat, aka no breathing, how the fuck are we going to sort this?"

"Dean, Dean, Dean…" Caleb says with a wicked smirk, "oh ye of little faith."

"Well excuse me if I'm a little dubious right now, see I just watched my baby brother bleed out before me."

Reaves bristles then, god the thought of Sam in that much pain, doesn't bear thinking about, to any of them. "Deuce, you and I, we've had our differences right?"

Dean cocks an eyebrow.

"Now in all the years you've known me man, you ever known me to put Sammy in danger? You ever known me to lie to you unless it was for your own good?"

Dean sighs begrudgingly scuffing his trainer against the linoleum floor. "No."

"Exactly. Your Dad and I are going to handle this."

"How?"

"Doesn't matter how it just…"

"Reaves I said I want to know how."

Caleb sighs, meeting the mutinous gaze of a kid eight years younger than him that could challenge him like few others could. "We got our hands on a spell…a binding spell…we're gonna catch ourselves a reaper Deuce, and then we're getting Sammy back from the dead."

* * *

Preview: Next chapter look for serious drama as Dean struggles with a nightmare scenario, the demon makes a reappearance and John messes with something he really REALLY should have left alone.


End file.
